


All Hallow's Eve

by amyoatmeal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Bunker Fluff, Candy, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel in Shorts, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cowboy Castiel, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Cutesy, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Happy Ending, Holidays, Impala Conversations, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Language, One Big Happy Family, Pie, Post-Case, Pumpkins, Romantic Fluff, Sam hates Halloween, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Team Free Will, Team Free Will 2.0, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trick or Treating, but like he totally knows, sam winchester doesn't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyoatmeal/pseuds/amyoatmeal
Summary: In which Dean and Cas confess their undying love for one another and decide that maybe this year it couldn't hurt to celebrate Halloween.  And what would Halloween be without a few cavities, right?





	1. Ghouls Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've heard of porn without plot, but have you also heard of fluff without plot? 'Cause this is that last one and I have no shame.
> 
> I don't usually write much fluff so I don't know how this happened, but let me know how you liked it in the comments I guess! xo

The pair were driving back from a case outside Emporia in the early morning, the sun still hanging relatively low in the east. It was an easy case. A milk run. A hungry ghoul prowling around a local cemetery for some late night snacks. They’d taken care of it pretty quick, but the waiting around for its ass to show had been the real killer. Appropriate since Halloween was fast approaching. Dean had almost forgot. 

It wasn’t like they celebrated much anyway, but it never went by unnoticed till now. See, Dean had a couple more pressing issues on his mind. Number one on the list being: Cas was alive again. Flesh and blood alive. Warm. Breathing. And if that weren’t cause for emotional whiplash, Dean’s internal organs weren’t letting him forget about what that whole ordeal had really meant to him.

Sitting in the cemetery last night, it kind of hit Dean like a bucket of ice water to the face. It kind of cemented a few things that, until recently, Dean didn’t want to deal with, but his brain helpfully supplied him with the fact things like this couldn’t wait around forever. Not really. Now or never, as they say. 

That brought him to point number two.

***

Dean and Cas had been huddled with their backs pressed against a headstone belonging to one Anastasia Whatever-her-name-was. A huge, bulking slab of grey granite with ornately-carved, winged cherubs dancing up the sides and frosted flowers etched into the name placard. Chosen for the irony on Dean’s part and for the coverage on Cas’. They made small talk, neither wanting to brooch any subject that required any real emotional heavy lifting. Light jokes, topical things. That was calculated on Dean’s part. He had no idea if it was on Cas’. 

“Hey, what kinda flowers you think these are?” Dean had asked when there was another lull in conversation. He liked them; they weren't frilly.

Cas turned his head to follow Dean’s hand where he was grazing the calloused pads of his fingertips over the etching. He narrowed his eyes and looked like he was sifting through all the folders in his mind before plainly stating “amaryllis” in a way that didn’t leave much room for conversation. 

“Amaryllis,” he repeated with a hum. 

“Would you like to know the story?” Cas prompted after another few beats of silence, watching as Dean flicked his eyes back up to meet him again.

“There’s a story?” Dean took a cursory glance around the cemetery for any sign of movement. When he found none, he shrugged, noncommittally. “Sure, why not. We got time to kill.”

Nodding, Cas recalled the details he could remember to the forefront of his mind. “Amaryllis was a nymph,” he began, resting his head against the cool granite. “She harbored a deep love for the local shepherd, Alteo, known far and wide for his physical strength and beauty, but her love was unrequited.”

Dean made a gesture with his hand, meant for Cas to skip to the good part.

“Alteo asked for one thing: a flower so unique that no one had ever laid eyes on it.”

Dean scoffed. “Way to set the bar low.”

“Yes, well, Amaryllis, desperate to win over Alteo’s affections consulted an oracle on how best to obtain such a flower. For whatever reason, the oracle instructed her to make nightly visits to Alteo’s door, where she would impale herself in the heart with an arrow made from solid gold.”

Dean tried to pay attention to Cas’ words, but his eyes were fixed on his mouth as he spoke. “Dramatic, much?” Dean chimed after the words caught up to him.

Cas pressed on. “She did this for thirty nights, but he never came to the door. Then, on the last night, he finally did. And so, Amaryllis is aptly named for the crimson blood stain that bloomed over her heart.” 

Letting out a disbelieving laugh, Dean leaned his head back too, eyes alight with amusement until he side-eyed Cas’ fragile expression. He flicked his eyes out to the rolling blue landscape instead, lazily scanning the silhouettes of the barren trees lining the cemetery. Dean didn't miss the irony. 

Cas’ sulking mood seemed to bleed into the cracks of silence they shared, until Dean broke it. “So, you’re tellin’ me it took this chick getting stabbed how many times just for what’s his face to give her the time of day?”

“Thirty. And it would appear so, yes.” Cas plucked a few blades of stiff grass and played with them between his slender fingers. 

Dean mindlessly watched his fingers twisting. Thinking over his last words, he came to an uncomfortable understanding. “What’s the point of that?” he asked, uncertain more with himself than with anything Cas had said.

“What do you mean?” Cas’ brows pinched in the middle as he angled his head towards Dean.

Trying to choose his next words carefully, Dean asked, “The guy... He loves her and then what?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following...”

“What I’m saying is, he had a hell of a window to get his shit together, ya know? To pull his head out of his ass, but it took the chick dying for him to do it. That’s fucked up.”

Cas hummed. “I don’t disagree,” was all he said.

***

They’d been seated for upwards of an hour, keeping their eyes peeled and their weapons ready, as a midnight fog lazily twisted through the headstones. While the conversation may have died down, Dean couldn’t help, but stare. It shouldn’t take someone dying to know. It was clear to Dean now that he'd always known. In small ways at first, but each new apocalypse, each new death, caused the feeling to latch on and claw its way out. He knew then and he knew now, and he couldn't help but stare because knowing and allowing are two entirely different things, weren’t they? He wanted to memorize every line on Cas’ face, every minute expression, every slope and curve of his profile as he stared out into the murky night, because Cas was there and Dean didn’t want to forget. Didn’t want to lose him again without allowing himself anything.

When Cas looked back towards him, clearly feeling that tingle one experiences when they’re being watched, Dean looked away. And at one non-distinct point between Dean grumbling that his ass was getting soaked from the recently watered grass and the ghoul emerging from somewhere in the shadows, it happened.

It wasn’t anything new. It was just Cas. Existing. Looking at Dean like he hung the friggin’ moon for no reason at all. Like him being alive was just hitting him now too. And Dean didn’t want to project, but maybe he was looking at Dean like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Exactly what Dean was feeling. In the moment, when it was just the two of them, Cas’ blue eyes reflecting the silver glint of the full moon in the sky, reflecting Dean’s own, Dean felt he may as well be looking at the actual celestial being composed of stardust and interstellar wavelengths sitting beside him. 

It was suddenly so much more than just Cas. 

It was Cas and Dean. 

Falling together.

Dean forced himself not to break eye contact. “Cas, I need you to know somethin’...”

“What is it?” asked Cas, voice immediately filling with concern.

“I mean you were dead, right? Like all the way dead. And I- I dunno, something inside me felt that, y’know?”

“Dean--”

Holding a palm up, Dean gently said, “No, Cas, lemme finish. I gotta say this or else I probably never will.” A small noise, similar to a chuckle, escaped him, but he wasn’t laughing. 

Cas closed his lips as he was told and willed Dean to continue.

“Those weeks you were gone, well, you know I been to Hell, and lemme tell you… Losing you… It didn’t feel much different than that.” Dean paused to breathe and to allow Cas a second to puzzle together whatever it was Dean was trying to say. He wiped his newly sweaty palms off on his jeans and cleared his throat. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, Cas, I think I’m--” Dean shook his head, “No, I know I’m in love with you.”

Cas’ eyes widened full of hope, awe, and dare he say love requited, until they flitted over Dean’s shoulder. “Dean!” Within seconds, he was suddenly scrambling to his feet before Dean could finish what he fully and finally intended to say. 

The ghoul showed up before they could really even hit the ground running.

*** 

When all was said and done and the ghouls brain was bludgeoned to a bloody pulp, lungs out of breath and heaving, clothes smattered with bits of brain and blood, Dean rested his weapon over his shoulder and the two of them limped back to the Impala on unsteady ground. Dean was nervous and he could feel the bile hitting the back of his throat. The sweat beading on his forehead might have been from exertion or from uncertainty. Dean couldn’t tell the difference. 

As they approached the car, Dean popped open the latch tossing the blood soaked blades and bat in the well of the trunk. He was hit with a wave of regret for having said anything at all, though looking back Dean probably should have realized that Cas could probably feel that too. Locking the trunk back up, he turned, absently wiping the blood mixed with sweat from his hands on the backside of his rough jeans, just as Cas abruptly backed him into the rear fender. Before Dean had a moment to process, Cas’ hands were entangling themselves into the canvas of his green jacket, pulling them closer together. Cas’ eyes held Dean’s for a lingering moment, then they slid down to his lips. 

Then Cas kissed him. A rough press of soft lips that aimed to express everything neither of them really had the guts to say out loud. Riding the high of adrenaline maybe. But Dean had said it, so it was high time to say it back in whatever way he could. 

Dean was in shock, if he was being honest. It felt electric and also not long enough. They were so close, Dean could feel the warm puffs of air against his lips as Cas’ pulled away and caught his breath. 

“I’m in love with you too, Dean,” he said, voice quiet enough for only Dean to hear, with an audible sigh of relief. Like he was finally revealing the secret of the universe.

It was that easy.

***

The Impala was now sat idling at a red light in the middle of some Podunk town a couple miles outside Lebanon. Lazily tapping his bloody, dirty fingers on the steering wheel to the quiet tune playing on the radio, Dean glanced over at Cas in the passenger seat. The morning sun was spearing through the windshield illuminating him in a golden glow and Cas was resting his eyes, face and clothing still smeared with blood and consecrated grave dirt, much like Dean’s, but he looked peaceful, Dean thought. Beautiful even. How fucked up was that? 

“I can feel you staring, Dean,” Cas murmured, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

Dean immediately removed them with a twitch of his lips. “Sorry.” Reaching to take a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, Dean almost spit it out as he followed his sights beyond Cas’ serene profile. His eyes were practically bugging out of the sockets. 

“Oh, hell yes!” 

Dean flicked his directional on and sharply turned into the approaching parking lot. It was that time of year where all the Halloween outlets possessed the empty husks of every abandoned department store they could find. This town was no different, and the lot wasn’t that full yet, so they probably weren’t completely picked over. 

“I used to steal dumb crap from these places all the time when I was a kid,” he excitedly explained to Cas, who startled open his eyes and desperately gripped the handle over the door. “Never really did get to celebrate it properly, though.”

Cas scanned the Halloween banner hanging over the forgotten lettering, taking in the obnoxious looking pumpkin face, as Dean pulled into an empty spot near the store. “Would you like to?” he proposed, with a curious tilt of his head.

After all the shit they’d seen, it honestly never occurred to Dean. It wasn’t something he felt he’d been missing out on since he had to deal with the creepy crawlies and spooks on a regular basis, but now that he was being asked? Dean didn’t feel as opposed as he once might have been.

“Huh. Y’know, I kinda think I would. Is that stupid or what?”

“Not at all,” said Cas, without missing a beat, “I think it might be nice, actually. I could celebrate with you and we could go trick-or-treating, if you’d like.”

“Yeah?” More importantly, Dean couldn’t really contain the excitement bubbling in his gut at the prospect of getting Cas into a cheesy costume. 

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean’s face lit up with a goofy grin. “That’s awesome. On one condition, though…”

Cas narrowed his eyes, hesitant to agree to whatever mischievous scheme was brewing behind Dean’s sly smile. “Which is?”

“I get to pick the costumes.”

Luckily, Halloween was the one time of the year where no one in the store raised an eyebrow at the streaks of gore painted on their clothing.


	2. Blood Rush and Pumpkin Guts

On the way home, they stopped at a quaint farm stand on the side of the road selling homemade fruit pies and pick-your-own pumpkins. 

“Ah, jack o’lanterns,” acknowledged Cas while Dean was squatted down, attempting to select the perfect size and shape out of the patch. The yellow sun was warming the earth causing a faint mist to evaporate off the dewy grass. “I forgot humans liked to make those.” 

Dean grimaced as he tried to lift one particularly rotund pumpkin off the ground with a pushed out grunt. “We might as well go all out, right? If we’re gonna do it, we gotta do it right, y’know?”

Cas gave an understanding nod. “I don’t disagree,” he teased, squinting against the bright sun with one of those small Cas smiles, radiant for their own reasons. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And Dean wasn’t about to say it out loud, but he was really loving the way that Cas had just decided to go along for the ride on this whole dumb thing. 

After a thorough search, having selected two adequately perfect pumpkins, Dean and Cas carried them over to the stand to pay. Dean wouldn’t own up to the fact he made Cas carry the heavier of the two either. The cashier, a tall, lanky kid with a goofy looking face, greeted them both with an awkward wave. He was sizing up the blood spatter and dirt flecked on Dean’s face and crusted under his nails as they approached the counter.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asked with a mouth full of braces.

Dean ignored the question. “Yeah, just the two pumpkins,” he replied, jerking his head in Cas’ general direction. 

Placing his own up on the counter, Dean reached around into his back pocket for his wallet and eyed the stack of fresh apple pies next to the cash register. He hesitated for a moment, but the decision didn’t really require much thought. Grabbing one of the pies off the stack, he slid the box over to be added to their order. “This too.”

When they reached the car, Dean tossed them on the floor of the backseat so they wouldn’t roll around while taking extra care with the apple pie. Cas held it the rest of the drive to the bunker. 

***

“Yo! We’re back!” 

Their clunky boots echoed off the metal staircase as Dean struggled to open the door in from the garage. They were both carrying the heavy pumpkins in what would be the first trip in from the car. There were still costumes and luggage to drag in, after all. And most importantly: pie.

“Yo, Sammy!” 

Setting the pumpkin down, on the library table, Dean saw a note tacked onto the light closest to the entrance. He tore it off and read it aloud: “Went to get Jack a haircut and buy groceries.” Dean snorted. “Now, if only he'd get one for himself.”

“I wonder when they left,” said Cas, placing his pumpkin down next to Dean’s and wiping the fresh dirt from his hands onto his already dirty clothes.

Dean shrugged, tossing the note on the table. “No clue. Oh well. We’ll just have to carve these babies ourselves, I guess,” he said with a grin, giving the pumpkin in front of him a hollow slap.

The corners of Cas’ mouth ticked up again. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

The warmth in Dean’s chest spread out to his limbs, tingling down to his fingertips. Returning the small smile was the only thing he could think to do, so he did. “I'm gonna go, uh, get the rest of the crap from the car and then I'm gonna change. Meet back here in ten?”

“Of course.”

“Awesome.” Dean fought to keep another grin off his face. He strayed down the hall a few steps before turning around. “Oh, and Cas,” he said leaning back around the frame of the doorway.

“Yes, Dean?” He looked up, hovering over the chair he'd just pulled out.

“You might want to change your clothes for this.” Cas glanced down at his overly formal, blood stained attire and decided with a small nod that Dean was probably right.

***

Cas looked smaller without his layers, but in a strange way, he also looked… bigger. Dean had brought him a change of clothes from his own dresser; an old band tee that had a few holes and a pair of loose sweats. Inconsequential articles of clothing that could stand to see some use, if only for gutting pumpkins. But damn, if Cas didn’t make them look like the most important articles of clothing Dean had ever owned. He filled out the black t-shirt in a way that Dean never would have imagined, stretched taut across his broad shoulders, and the pants were loose enough to allow a sliver of tanned skin to peek out over the top. Dean’s eyes laid to rest there. Rest in fucking peace.

“What do we do now?” 

They were stood on either side of the library table with their respective pumpkins sat in front of them, but Cas had no idea where to start and he was looking to Dean for a little guidance. 

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, bringing himself back, “Don’t know really. Never carved a pumpkin.” He’d brought in a few knives and utensils from the kitchen and placed them in the center of the table, so he reached for one flipping it around in his hands for a moment, weighing it. “I guess we just start gutting it?”

Cas dipped his chin in understanding. “That makes sense.” He reached for a knife as well, a smaller one than Dean’s, and didn’t hesitate much before deciding to just stab it in. 

Dean chuckled under his breath at the serious expression on Cas’ face, as he set to work carving out the lid to his own pumpkin. A jagged circle was the best he could manage with a butcher knife, he figured, as he yanked it free. Stringy guts clung to the lid interspersed with white seeds. And the smell. Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell of it. If this is what raw vegetables were like, it was no wonder he wasn’t a fan. Dean glanced up to assess Cas’ progress and he was also pulling the lid off. His perfectly circular lid. Of course. 

Cas peered inside and frowned. “This is disgusting.”

Reaching an unsure fist into the open cavity, Dean sunk his fingers into the wet, slimy viscera and brought back a handful of guts, juices seeping through the cracks in his fingers. He wanted to gag a little, but he reigned it in and flung the handful into the bowl on the table. “You’re not wrong.”

Studying Dean, Cas decided to go for it as well. Dean laughed at the answering face alone. “Humans do this for fun?” Cas asked with a slight scowl. 

“That they do.” 

They continued scooping out the guts for a few more minutes in vague disgust. Cas moved on to using the soup ladle instead of his fingers and Dean couldn’t fault him. 

“You think about what you’re gonna put on it?” asked Dean, shaking off the remaining slime from his fingers into the bowl and wiping them off on a dish rag.

“I would imagine a face. Is that not customary?”

“I mean, sure, that’s typical, but you can put whatever you want on it, man. Sky’s the limit!”

“Oh.” Cas paused. He seemed to ponder over it a little. “In that case, I’m not sure yet. What will you be putting on yours?”

Dean hadn’t really thought much about it. He had imagined a face too, honestly. “That’s a good question,” he said with a chuckle. “Just gonna wing it, I guess.”

Something clicked behind Cas’ eyes as he returned to working. “Me too,” he said with another small smile. Dean felt another flutter, but he suppressed it. 

He really didn’t know what to put on his pumpkin. Dean was never really that artistically inclined. At least, not in his opinion. He would do small doodles on the sides of his notebook pages back in school, but he’d never really tried to create anything else, boob doodles aside. He didn’t really want a monster; he’d seen enough of those in his lifetime. A face seemed lame. A couple cool ideas floated through his mind as he finished up scraping out the inside, but he knew he wasn’t good enough to transfer them to paper, let alone a pumpkin. Though, as he watched Cas work, his strong hands deftly carving into his pumpkin, there was one idea that struck him that could be easily remedied.

Reaching for a marker, Dean asked, “Cas, can I borrow your hand for a second?”

Cas tore his sights from his pumpkin and glanced up to meet Dean’s eyes, then to the marker uncapped in his hand, then back up to his face again, furrowing his brows. “My hand?” Dean nodded, mouth twisting into a smirk. Cas narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

Dean playfully rolled his eyes, but reached out to take Cas’ wrist. “Dude, just give me your hand.” And Cas let him, but not without a healthy dose of skepticism. Tugging his arm across the table, Dean laid Cas’ warm palm over the surface of his pumpkin and Cas furrowed his brows even more. 

“Dean, what are you--” Before Cas could process why Dean wanted his hand at all, the marker in Dean’s hand was tracing along the edges of his palm, tickling between his fingers as he drew.

“There,” said Dean with a smile, placing the cap back on the marker. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Your handprint.” Cas’ blank expression goaded Dean into explaining further, but he didn’t really have an explanation. Not one he wanted to share with the class. “I like it,” was all he could come up with on such short notice. 

Cas blinked. “You… like my hands?”

The warmth spreading across Dean’s face was only a little distracting. “I just mean it’ll make a cool jack o’lantern,” he stammered out. “I’m just gonna…” Dean dipped his chin, nodding towards the pumpkin, “Yeah.” 

When Dean felt it was safe to peek over at Cas again, Cas was smiling warmly down at his pumpkin while he worked, his eyes soft, and Dean felt himself smile too.

Once they were both finished, they turned their pumpkins to face each other. Dean had attempted the handprint to the best of his abilities. It wasn’t half bad, given the fact Dean had never carved a pumpkin before, so he gave himself a bit of a mental pat on the back as he showed it off with a grin. Cas placated him with confidence boosting compliments before he turned over his own pumpkin and then the grin Dean was wearing slid off his face as his jaw dropped to the floor.

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean picked his jaw up, but was still in complete awe as to how Cas managed to pull this kind of shit out of his ass. “How the hell did you do that?” It was an elaborate display of what Dean could only assume were Cas’ wings. Well, what his wings used to be.

“You said you were just going to wing it. I suppose I took it a bit more literally than you did.”

“I’d say,” said Dean with a low whistle, eyes scanning over Cas’ intricate carvings of swirling feathers.

“It’s not very good.”

“Are you kiddin’ me! It’s fucking amazing, man! I thought you said you didn’t know how to do this.”

“They hardly look anything like the real thing, but then again, neither do mine anymore.”

“No, this is awesome, Cas. You’re awesome.” Maybe that was a bit much on Dean’s part, but it wiped that sorry look off Cas’ face so Dean was satisfied.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Just then, the telltale creaking of the bunker door startled Dean out of whatever moment he and Cas were having again. “Hey, how’d the case go?” It was Sam lugging in a few bags of groceries, Jack trailing behind with a freshened up haircut.

“Bloody. Dropped the sucker in five minutes flat, though.” 

“What’s all this?” Sam asked with a slight frown as he came down the stairs and crossed the war room. His eyes were taking in the absolute mess made on the library table.

“We’re making jack o’lanterns,” explained Cas.

“Uh yeah, Cas, I can see that,” Sam said with a chuckle. “What I mean is, why?”

“Cuz it’s Halloween. Duh. Me and Cas here decided to celebrate this year,” Dean said, gesturing between the two of them with his butcher knife.

“Are you trying to tell me you bought a vegetable on purpose?” Dean shot him a withering glare to which Sam snickered. “We’ve never celebrated Halloween before,” he pointed out, handing Jack the groceries to bring to the kitchen.

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time that changed? We deserve to have some holidays just like everybody else.”

“If you say so, Dean, but you can count me out. I don’t do Halloween.”

“Ah, not so fast there, Sammy. I got you something too!” Sam creased his brows as Dean grinned and crossed the library to where he set the bags down earlier. Rifling through the orange bag, Dean pulled out what had to be the largest, most obnoxiously patterned clown costume known to mankind along with a curly blue wig. He was practically howling, doubled over with laughter at the absolute look of mortification spreading across Sam’s face.

“Screw you, Dean,” Sam spit out with a shake of his head, turning to follow Jack into the kitchen.

“Oh, c’mon, Sam,” he cried out after him, wiping the corners of his eyes. “It’s just a costume! It was on sale!”

“I told you he wouldn’t like it,” chastised Cas, but when Dean looked over to him Cas was smiling too.

And in the kitchen, Jack could be overheard asking Sam, “What’s Halloween?” followed by a muffled groan.


	3. The Mask of the Little Death

Halloween night had finally arrived. 

Dean struggled into the black lycra catsuit with as few mishaps as possible. Strapping on the faux six-pack to cover his ever-so-slight beer gut and the additional decorative belt, Dean gave himself a final once over. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, apparently, but he still looked pretty damn good if he did say so himself. And yeah, maybe the fake abs helped, but hey, whatever. He grabbed the plastic Batman mask out of the bag and pulled it on over his face before heading down the hall to the library.

Sam was sitting at one of the tables scrolling through something on his laptop, face contorting in that way that always made him look constipated. 

“What the hell, Sam?” asked Dean at the sacrilegious sight before him. Sam was sporting a plaid flannel and a pair of jeans. It was a holiday goddamn it, and Sam was going to celebrate it too, even if Dean had to hold him at gunpoint.

“What?” Sam peeled his eyes off the computer screen to look at Dean. He did a double take at the ridiculous Batman costume and let out a jeering laugh. “Nice abs, Dean,” he said, dripping with judgmental sarcasm.

“Where’s your costume?” Dean asked, incredulously. He had spent a full ten minutes trying to find a costume that came in size G for Gargantuan and here it wasn’t even being appreciated.

“I’m wearing it.” Sam returned half of his attention to whatever he was doing on the computer screen. Some sort of radar screen blipping in the background.

“Oh, yeah? The hell are you supposed to be?”

“Myself.”

“Wow. Terrifying.”

“You know I hate Halloween, Dean. Consider yourself lucky I eventually agreed to participate at all.”

Dean brought his hands to his hips, sputtering. “Just… No friggin’ way! You can’t go trick’r’ treating like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Dean flippantly, holding his arms out, willing an answer to fall into them. His caped swooshed with the gesture. “It’s against the rules. You’ll look ridiculous.”

“Oh, yeah? Says who?” Sam made it a point to emphatically side-eye Dean’s whole ensemble.

“Says me, and I’m older, so what I say goes.”

“Wow, Dean, haven’t heard you pull that card in years,” Sam said, the corners of his mouth tugging up a little with a snort

“Whatever. Where’s the kid?”

“Changing.”

Dean took a seat at the table across from Sam and waited impatiently for the other two to get their asses in gear. Theoretically, Dean was working under the pretense that they were celebrating Jack’s first Halloween, that was what he said to convince Sam anyway, but it was also his first Halloween out of diapers, so he wasn’t here to fuck around. After a few minutes, Jack came into the library wearing a weirdly sized Luke Skywalker costume. It was the biggest child’s size it had came in and that was all they had left.

“I’m not sure this fits…” Jack pulled at one of the constricting wrap ties for emphasis. 

“Oh, it fits,” said Dean, not willing to let another one muck up his plans. “You look fine, keep it on.” Jack didn’t dare argue at this point so he obeyed and joined Sam and Dean at the library table. The two of them split the last couple slices of pizza in the box, while Dean tapped his fingers against the tabletop and anxiously bounced his leg. After a few more minutes of waiting, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Where the hell is Cas? Did he get lost or something?”

“Chill out, Dean. They aren’t going to give out all the candy without you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was honestly scared they might. Rising from his seat, he decided, “I’m gonna go see what’s taking him so long.” 

“Is he always like this?” Dean overheard Jack asking to Sam as he left the room.

Whatever. He marched down the hall with purpose, coming to a full stop outside of Cas’ bedroom door. In impatient irritation, he rapped on Cas’ chamber door a little too loudly. Okay, it was more like a bang. “C’mon, Cas. What’s the hold up?”

“Dean?” There was a pause and a crash. “Could you possibly... give me a hand?”

Dean released a ragged sigh at how pathetic he sounded, but it was actually kind of adorable too. “Yeah, sure, buddy.” 

He cracked the door open and craned his neck around to assess the situation. Cas was caught up in some overly long lengths of leather fringe. But that wasn’t the thing making Dean’s brain go offline and his mouth go as dry as the Sahara. 

“Jesus, Cas! What the hell are you wearing!?” he rushed out in an urgent whisper to cover up his spontaneous implosion.

Cas was brazenly wearing Dean’s denim cutoffs with a pair of cowboy boots; cowboy hat perched atop his dark mess of hair. A gold star pinned to the pleather concho vest draped over his shoulders. Dean’s eyes felt like they were bugging out. 

“What do you mean? I’m trying to put on my Halloween costume. You picked it out for me at the store…”

“You look like the lost member of the Village People!” Dean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him so Sam and Jack couldn’t overhear. “Word to the wise, Cas, you’re supposed to wear pants with chaps or no pants at all.” Mistake. Dean specifically wasn’t about to picture Cas in assless chaps while bearing his actual ass. Not right now, anyway.

Cas blushed a light shade of pink, fiddling with the ties of the chaps in the mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was unaware,” he said woodenly, like Dean’s head was full of rocks. “Should I change? I don’t own a pair of jeans and my thighs wouldn’t fit into yours. I already tried.”

Dean swallowed thickly at the mere thought of Cas’ muscular thighs busting out of his jeans. “No, no,” he croaked, trying to avert his eyes from where Cas was tugging, “Keep ‘em on. It’s, uh, it’s good... You look good, man.”

Cas threw him a disbelieving look over his shoulder before appraising Dean’s costume. “You look good as well,” murmured Cas, almost shyly. 

“Yeah,” replied Dean, eloquently. “Thanks. What did you, uh, need help with, exactly?” Cas just gestured to the chaps he was failing to don correctly. Dean gulped, but he nodded anyway. “Right, okay,” he said, stepping across the room. “Let’s see… Um, turn around, I guess.” 

Dean stooped behind Cas, knees pressing into the thin, woven rug on the floor of Cas’ room, while he hesitantly reached for the strings of the costume-quality chaps. Cheap or not, they were doing the right things for Cas. And for Dean. Accentuating every chiseled muscle down the backs of his legs. It suddenly struck Dean that he’d never even seen Cas’ legs before now. Weird. Or was it weird he was disappointed by that fact? 

Cas sucked in a subtle gasp when Dean’s fingers accidently grazed across the back of his thigh, tying a secure knot by the hem of the shorts. Cas’ skin was warm and tanned and did absolutely nothing to Dean whatsoever. Nope. He was not about to get a boner in a friggin’ catsuit. He made quick work of the rest of the ties, desperately avoiding letting his fingers run across any other section of exposed skin. 

“All set, buddy,” exhaled Dean with a shaky breath, quickly hobbling to get off his creaky knees. 

Cas stepped back to assess himself in the floor length mirror, pulling at the fringed hem of the shorts a little. They would have to do. “Thank you, Dean.”

Backing out of the room, Dean returned to the library. “Alright, let’s roll out!” said Dean with a clap, practically skipping into the room out of unadulterated excitement. 

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s right behind…” started Dean, but when he turned his head, Cas was hanging back in the hallway, visibly self-conscious. Dean slumped his shoulders and groaned. “C’mon, Cas. We gotta go!”

Cas grumbled something under his breath that Dean couldn’t hear. It sounded suspiciously like “Lord give me strength” or something, but he pulled himself off the tiled wall and walked towards the library anyway, steeling himself. When he emerged through the doorway, Sam barked out a laugh at Cas’ expense, practically doubling over in his chair, arms wrapping around his middle. 

“Hey, knock it off!” Dean scolded, slapping Sam upside the back of the head. “At least he dressed up, unlike some people.”

Sam came up for air, wiping at the corners of his eyes, while his shoulders still silently shuddered with the aftershocks. “I’m sorry,” he said, biting back another laugh. “You look great, man. Really. I just wasn’t expecting this.” 

“I like your costume too, Sam.”

“I’m not--” Sam tried to interject.

“‘Constipated Lumberjack’ really suits you.”. 

Sam didn’t seem as amused now.

Now it was Dean’s turn to bark a laugh. “Man, you just got burned by Cas!”

“I think Castiel looks really nice, Sam,” added Jack, innocently.

Sam rolled his eyes, but a hint of smile lifted one corner. “Anyway, Dean’s right. We should probably head out. The sun’s probably going down right around now,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s a good thing you don’t get cold though, Cas. Hopefully the rest of us don’t freeze.”

“Nuh-uh, that’s what this is for.” Dean reached into the back of his belt where he’d usually kept a gun, and magically pulled out a large flask of whiskey, waving it around. He twisted the cap off and took a pull from it, offering the flask out to Sam and Cas. 

Cas accepted, took a small, unappreciative sip, and handed it back. 

Sam wrinkled his nose at it. “Dude, is that Fireball?”

“You bet your ass it is!”

“Since when do you like Fireball?”

“Since it’s Halloween.”

Sam stared back at him critically, probably reminiscing about the one and only time Dean drank Fireball and it ended up all over that particular motel rooms cheaply tiled floor. Dean was specifically not reminiscing about that incident.

“What? It’s festive!” defended Dean, taking another quick swig and a hiss of the burning cinnamon abomination before replacing it back under the cape. He was going to need all the liquid courage he could get if he was going to brave the sight of Cas walking around in his shorts all night.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“No, Sam,” corrected Dean as he moved around the table to grab his car keys. He tossed them up in the air and snatched them back again, thinking he looked a lot cooler than he actually did. “I’m Batman.”

The three of them collectively groaned and Dean chuckled at their expense as they made their way towards the garage.


	4. Ding Dong, Bitch

The Impala grumbled as Dean killed the engine. They were pulled up along the curb of some cookie-cutter neighborhood with looming houses lining both sides of the street. There were already plenty of kids galavanting along the sidewalk with their parents, the streetlamps having just flicked on a couple minutes ago. If Dean knew anything about trick-or-treating, it was that the rich folks always gave out the best shit. Like full-sized candy bars and actual money kind of shit.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” he looked over his shoulder conspiratorially acknowledging Jack and Cas sat in the backseat, “Jack and Sam are going to hit the houses that way,” he pointed ahead at the street towards the end of the road, a cul-de-sac neighborhood. Safe. “Cas and me, we’re going the other way,” he added, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the other end of the road. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” interjected Sam, holding his palms up. “Wait a minute, why are we splitting up, exactly?”

Dean hadn’t exactly told Sam about he and Cas. There was a certain time and place for that kind of discussion and it wasn’t in the car, in the middle of a the street on Halloween. The less he needed to know the better. 

“We go two ways, we hit twice as many houses. Twice as many houses means more candy. Two plus two equals four, dumbass,” Dean helpfully explained. It was sound logic, it just wasn’t the whole truth.

Sam donned bitch face number four. “Thanks, Dean, but don’t you think we’ll look a little, I don’t know… creepy, walking door to door without any kids?” 

“Whaddya mean? The kid’s a kid,” Dean gestured to Jack sitting behind Sam. He just looked happy to be there.

“Sure, technically, but he looks 25 at least.” Sam just had to try to poop on every party. “It’s going to be weird is all I’m saying. Pretty sure this kind of thing is illegal in at least Virginia now too.”

“No, Samantha, it’s called tact, and fuck Virginia. Just stand close to the other kids. The assholes handing out candy will be none the wiser. It’s easy.”

“That’s your plan? Because standing suspiciously close to other people’s kids isn’t creepy,” huffed Sam.

“Whatever! If all else fails you can always nail ‘em with the puppy dog pout, capiche? So, you in or out?”

“Please, Sam? I’m really looking forward to experiencing more human traditions,” begged Jack, clinging to the front seat. 

Jack looked awkward in his too-small costume, but Cas really took the cake on this one and Dean was thrilled. 

Sam grumbled, but he couldn’t really object to that. He was already here, he didn’t really have a choice. He wanted Jack to get the full human experience that he and Dean never really got to have too.

“Fine,” relented Sam, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go, Jack.”

***

The sun burned away to a low ember below the treeline, casting the street in the light given from the flickering street lamps. Dead leaves crunched under foot and danced in the frigid breeze as the walked side by side in the opposite direction. Ghosts draped in sheets and miscellaneous monsters whirled around them on the sidewalk flying between the houses. As they walked, Cas’ cowboy boots scuffed along the rough pavement, occasionally bumping shoulders while they admired the purple and orange string lights on the row of trimmed hedges. 

The wide brim of Cas’ cowboy hat was illuminated like a halo by the dim, yellow streetlamp overhead, casting shadows. Meanwhile, Dean’s black bodysuit let him bleed into the night, as Batman was so apt to do. It was too dark otherwise to decipher any weird looks they were receiving from other trick-or-treaters, but mostly, Dean didn’t care. How could he? Cas was walking next to him dressed like a goddamn cowboy of all things and laughing at another one of Dean’s lame jokes. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with that in his opinion. 

Dean hadn’t really planned how he and Cas would attempt this whole trick-or-treating thing without Jack as the scapegoat, but he just really wanted to spend the night with Cas without Sam throwing a wet blanket on everything. And he really hated to admit when Sam was right, but he probably should have thought this through earlier. 

Coming to a stop in front of the first house, Dean darted his eyes between the front door and Cas as they approached the iron gate. “Shall we?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. And Dean couldn’t really see it that well, but he could have sworn Cas was blushing a little because of it.

“Yes, I suppose we should get it over with.” He was fidgeting with the frayed hem of the shorts again.

“Try not to sound too excited,” Dean chuckled. “After you.” Biting his lip to hold back a smirk, Dean bowed his head and held out his hand towards the opening in the front gate.

“Much obliged,” Cas said sarcastically, with that dumb Texan accent and a quick tip of his hat.

Dean almost melted into a puddle of goo on the sidewalk from the accent alone, but then Cas was leading the way up the cobbled front walk and Dean couldn’t help but look. It was right there, after all, swaying in his damn shorts. Not to mention the goddamn boots. What really killed him was the fact that he was allowed to look now. Dean just about died and went to Heaven. No, wait. Hell. Yeah, Hell was definitely the right place for these kind of thoughts. About an Angel of the friggin’ Lord, no less. 

Absently reaching for his flask, Dean sucked down a quick gulp to damper the strangled groan brewing in his throat. Dean tried to get ahold of himself. It was Cas, he tried to rationalize.. Except for the fact, it being Cas was the hardest part about this whole thing. Pun intended.

Skipping to catch up with him, they walked up the front steps together, joining the other children gathered around the door and the small Frankenstein in the front pressed the doorbell. It echoed from within the cavernous house and a few seconds later the front door swung open. “Trick-or-treat,” they said in unison as an older woman wearing a witch hat and bearing a large bowl of candy greeted them with a smile. She didn’t even second guess the fact that Dean and Cas were hanging by the back of the group. She dropped candy into the waiting mouths of the pillowcases being held out to her and then wished them all a “Happy Halloween”. 

As they walked back towards the street, Dean looked over to Cas and gave him a furtive nod. “Told ya it would work. Easy.”

“I never doubted you, Dean.”

“Aw, Cas, you had me at ‘hello’,” Dean placed his hand over his heart in a sickeningly sweet mock of affection. Ironically, it was still true. “On to the next, then?”

Cas rolled his eyes, but a slight note of fond affection tinged his lips. “On to the next,” he affirmed, gesturing for Dean to lead the way.

***

“Weird, isn’t it?” asked Dean, as he took another sip from his flask. 

Dean was happily buzzed off his ass on Fireball and had even managed to convince Cas to take a few sips between houses. Their pillowcases weren’t empty and that was the most important piece of information. After all, it was the entire point, wasn’t it?

When Dean offered him the flask again, Cas took it to appease him. “What is?” 

“This,” Dean motioned between them, “The whole thing.” He shook his head with a snort. “Never thought our first date would be on Halloween… Actually, scratch that. Never thought we’d have a first date.”

Cas hummed his agreement, but then backpedalled. “Wait, this is a date?” His eyebrows were drawn together in that dumb way Dean secretly loved.

Dean full-on laughed. “I mean, it’s not, not a date. We’re alone, aren’t we? When does that ever happen?”

Cas hummed again. “That’s true. I suppose Halloween is as fitting a date as any. Afterall, it’s essentially Halloween every day for us. Were we not slaughtering a ghoul just the other day?”

“Shhh,” Dean hushed, amused, “There’s delicate children around.”

“My apologies.”

Dean chuckled as their boots kicked up crunching leaves, “You do have a point, though.”

***

Dean’s plan worked for a little while. Maybe an hour, tops.

Most of the people greeting the trick-or-treaters just assumed they were the parents to one of the kids in the group so no one said anything about it. Everything seemed to be going as easy as Dean claimed it would until they came to one house down the block. It was sparsely decorated sans for that annoying-to-hang, faux spiderweb crap and a few rubber bats hanging from strings.

The old woman that answered the door had a hunched spine and curlers twisted into her purple hair. She answered the doorbell in scuffed slippers and a tattered robe holding a bowl of candy, the sounds of a over-dramatic soap blasting inside the living room. She was eyeing Dean and Cas through a sharp squint as they attempted to reach into the bowl.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treating,” she accused with a rasping snarl, clearly having forgotten her glasses. She swatted Dean’s hand as he pulled it out of the bowl causing the candy to fall back in.

“Oh, we’re just, uh,” Dean locked his eyes on a small devil, complete with red horns, pitchfork, and tail, a couple yards from the stairs. Close enough. “We’re taking our son out,” he stammered awkwardly, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yes, he’s right over there,” said Cas, pointing off in the same general direction Dean was looking. And thank whoever that Cas just went along with the lie.

Dean waved to the red devil. “Be right there, little Billy! We’re gonna take you home soon!”

The kid looked terrified, gathering up his plastic bucket full of candy, and cried “Daddy!” as he ran towards another man off near the sidewalk on the other side of the picket fence.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath as he turned back to face the old woman. She didn’t look all too pleased, like she forgot her daily glass of prune juice or something. “Any chance I could still get that Snickers to go?”

“Now, you stay right there,” she grumbled turning around in what must have been high speed for her, “Don’t you go anywhere, I’m callin’ the police!” she threatened, while still moving with as much gusto as a turtle. Dean didn’t doubt she would though. That was just his kind of luck.

“Shit,” he said again, only this time with feeling, “We gotta go!” 

The second she rounded the corner, Dean skipped down the steps two at a time, but stopped at the bottom because Cas was still glued in place by the door, looking unsure what to do next. “Cas! It’s time to haul ass!” He went up the steps halfway and reached out to grab Cas by the shirt sleeve, tugging him down the steps while he held onto his hat. 

As they sprinted down the old woman’s front walkway, Dean couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. They continued around the bend in the road, past a handful of families and a few dimly lit houses up the street while Dean continued laughing, yanking Cas along by the borrowed flannel the entire way.

“Dean,” protested Cas after they were sufficiently out of eyeline with the old woman’s porch light, “I think we can stop--” He was cut off by Dean flinging himself into someone’s front garden filled with decorative heaps of straw and corn husks. Cas went toppling over with him. 

“Dean--” Cas tried again as he scrambled to right himself among the prickling stalks. He was cut off again by Dean clapping a warm palm over his mouth, and raising a finger to his own plush lower lip. Dean’s eyes were sparkling with amusement as they wavered between Cas’. 

After a few seconds, Dean lifted his head over the neighboring bush and haphazardly scanned the street to see if anyone had seen them. He brought his attention back to Cas and it suddenly dawned on him that his hand was still over Cas’ mouth. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, removing his hand. He was a bit winded. He hadn’t had to sprint like that in a while and it showed. 

Maneuvering himself around, Dean propped himself against what appeared to be a headstone that said ‘RIP’ in raised block print. They were surrounded by them, actually: faux, plastic headstones and a few purposefully placed jack o’lanterns scattered amongst the straw. A makeshift graveyard. Reaching under his ass, Dean pulled a prosthetic, bloodied zombie hand out from underneath him and tossed it aside. The moon was hanging high in the sky again casting that same familiar, silver glow on Cas’ face as Dean brought himself to look over at him. Cas’ eyes looked like saucers in the moonlight. 

Finally seeming to catch on to their surroundings, a warm smile tugged at the corners of Cas’ pink lips and Dean could feel the fluttering wings of a million butterflies caressing his insides. He swallowed them back down because that was just too lame. 

“Cas,” whispered Dean, wanting to capture the enigma of Cas’ full gaze again. 

It caught in his throat a bit, but Cas turned his head back to meet him all the same. Suddenly finding a mind of its own, Dean’s hand reached across to place itself on Cas’ shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. The smile Cas had been wearing slipped a little and was replaced with an inaudible gasp as Dean’s hand snaked its way up to rest on the back of his neck. It was warm there. The errant tufts of dark hair peeking out from under the cowboy hat tickled Dean’s fingers. Hesitantly, he pulled. Or Cas leaned. It was all still new and Dean couldn’t really tell, all he knew was that they were most definitely getting closer. 

“Well, howdy, partner,” Dean said with a snort when they were a few inches apart. He wasn’t drunk. He was just drunk enough that somehow the idea of this wasn’t making him nervous anymore. How could it? Cas was there.

The straw was poking his thighs through the black lycra and Dean could only imagine how it must have felt on Cas’ bare legs, but if it bothered Cas he didn’t show it. They were only inches apart. The air between them smelled like cinnamon whiskey and mixed hot as they exhaled into the same space. Dean’s eyes flitted between Cas’ for a fraction of a moment, searching them just to be sure he wasn’t crossing some invisible line, but all he found looking back at him was the same look Cas had shown him the other night. Dean didn’t know what it meant, but if it was anything like what Dean was feeling, it was enough. It was a line that should have been crossed ages ago, Dean figured.

Cas’ eyes flicked down to Dean’s lips again as Dean nervously ran his tongue across to wet them. “Dean,” he said. It was all he said.

It was the softest sound Dean had ever heard in his life and, within milliseconds, Cas was taking that final plunge, capturing Dean’s lips with his own. It did feel a little bit like falling, but it also felt strangely like flying. A wholly new sensation coursing through his veins. He could get addicted to this, Dean thought, as he laid a palm to the center of Cas’ chest and gradually lowered him against the dumb, plastic headstone behind them with a soft thud. Cas’ hands were gripped in the flowing material of his cape, while Dean took his time exploring the solid feeling of Cas’ biceps under his palms, his chest, and eventually the warm skin just under the frayed hem of his denim cutoffs. Dean swallowed the strangled groan Cas emitted and only inched his fingers higher, until suddenly Cas stopped kissing back.

“Dean,” he said again, but this time it was accompanied by repetitive swatting to his shoulder. “Dean, stop.” 

Dean pulled back, eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Did I cross a line?” he asked, but Cas was looking at some distant point over his shoulder. 

Pulling his gaze back to Dean’s scrunched face, Cas hurriedly soothed him, “No, of course not, but we seem to have an audience.”

Following Cas’ line of vision, Dean turned his head and heaved a laughed. Across the street was a kid dressed up in a sheet with a pair of slits cut out for the eyes, black permanent marker rings circling around the holes. He was going to town on a candy bar, absently watching the two of them go to town on each other. And Dean couldn’t seem to stop laughing at it as he kneeled over Cas. 

Looking back down to Cas and wiping the corners of his eyes, Dean managed to get out, “Is it just me, or does this feel a little bit like deja vu?”

Cas rolled his eyes as he pushed a giggling Dean off of himself. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and struggled to get to his feet in the heeled cowboy boots. The ghost left now that the show was obviously over, but this time Dean knew for sure: Cas was blushing. 

“I think it would be best if we made our way back to the car now,” Cas said demurely, picking errant bits of straw off of his flannel shirt and out of his hair.

Once Dean’s laughter fell away, he joined Cas in standing. “Aw, don’t do that,” griped Dean, as he drew Cas in by the belt loops. “It adds to the authenticity,” he mumbled warmly into the side of Cas’ face. From this close, the pink blush on Cas’ cheeks was far more visible. It was also adorable. Dean let out an easy smile now. He felt like the weight of the world was sloughed off his shoulders just being this close to Cas. He didn’t have time to care he was covered in straw himself. Angling his head, Dean placed a gentle peck to Cas’ cheek and it was just as electrifying as the first time around. He was already addicted, he decided, as he reluctantly pulled away. 

Cas’ eyes were wide again, trying to take it all in, and the intensity made heat travel to the tips of Dean’s ears too. He couldn’t have that; the two of them standing in some strangers Halloween decorations blushing at each other like schoolgirls. So naturally, he reached up and tugged the brim of Cas’ cowboy hat down over his eyes before barking out a laugh at the slight scowl forming below it.

“Yes, I’m certain all the real, authentic cowboys wore shorts.”

Dean playfully rolled his eyes, even though Cas couldn’t see. More confident now than he ever would have been, Dean grasped Cas’ hand in his own and tugged. “C’mon, Cas! There’s pie waiting back at the bunker with my name on it!”


	5. All Hallows

Back at the car, Dean and Cas sat in the front seat together while they waited for Sam and Jack to make their way back. They had the radio turned on low, one of Dean’s Zeppelin mixes jammed into the tape deck, while they absently tangled their fingers together across the leather seat. It was all so new, but it felt like they should have been doing it for millenia. 

“Dean, about the other night,” started Cas, breaking the calm silence.

Normally, Dean would have gotten the equivalent of a shock from a nine volt down the spine at the mere suggestion of Cas wanting to discuss feelings. Weird what a good kiss can do to change that. Or three-quarters of a flask of Fireball. The whole love thing definitely didn’t hurt the situation.

“What about it?”

Cas stared at their fingers for a few beats before returning his eyes to Dean’s face. “I just wanted to apologize for interrupting you while you were talking. I know it wasn’t easy for you to say, but I wanted you to know I appreciate everything that you said. Hearing you say that… It means everything to me. Truly.”

Dean could feel his blush forming before he even formulated a proper response. “Well it was about time I pulled my head out of my ass, ya know? Couldn’t let anything happen to you again without knowing.” Preemptively, Dean said, “Sorry,” as he eyed a point just beyond the windshield. They hadn’t told Sam or Jack and something selfish in Dean didn’t want to yet, just for a little while at least. He reluctantly withdrew his fingers and Cas understood without having to warrant any further explanation. One thing at a time.

Sam and Jack were spotted a few meters away from the Impala. Jack had a huge smile spread across his face and Sam looked just a little less constipated than when they’d originally set out on this mission, so all in all, Dean was marking it down as a win. Sam spotted Cas in the front seat, so they rounded the sides of the Impala and Jack slipped in the back easily. Meanwhile, Sam was twisting himself like a pretzel in order to cram himself into the backseat.

“So, how’d you guys make out?” Sam asked, drawing his knees just that much closer to his chest. Enough to punch out a grunt as he struggled.

Dean’s eyes felt like they were popping out as he looked in the rearview at Sam and then across the passenger seat towards Cas. “W-what? We didn’t--” he stuttered eventually.

Reaching across the seat, Sam grabbed his worn pillowcase full of candy and lifted it to Dean to show in the rearview. “I meant with the candy, Dean,” he said, woodenly.

“Oh, yeah, of course, uh…” Fumbling for his own pillowcase, he reached down in the passenger side footwell and held the candy up over the bench seat. It wasn’t even half full, but it was more than Dean was ever expecting to get, all things considered. “Not too shabby, I guess.”

Sam gave an appraising nod. “Not too shabby,” he agreed. “We didn’t do too bad either, considering.”

“Told ya so, Sammy!” Dean turned the key in the ignition and the Impala rumbled to life as he peeled away from the curb. “Easy.”

“Yeah, well, to be honest, I think most of the people were being so nice because they thought Jack had something wrong with him.”

Dean barked out a laugh as he turned onto the main road. “Hey, man, whatever gets you the free shit.”

“How did you like trick-or-treating, Jack?” asked Cas, as Jack popped another miniature chocolate bar into his mouth. 

And without even swallowing first, Jack went on a sugar-induced tirade about how amazing the experience had been. Even going off on tangents about some of the cool costumes he had seen and how one person instantly nailed the fact that Sam was totally dressed as a lumberjack and how he wanted to do it again, despite Sam telling him that Halloween only happened once a year, and even that was too many times, according to Sam. At the end of it all, he was out of breath, but he just reached into his pillowcase and unwrapped another candy which seemed to distract him enough, at least for the ride home.

Though, as swiftly as Jack’s sugar high came, it went. When they walked through the door, he already seemed to be crashing. Following a little more over-excited holiday recap, Jack bid everyone goodnight and scampered off to his room hauling the biggest pillowcase full of candy. Dean wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was a little jealous. 

Shortly after settling back in, Dean, Cas, and Sam pulled out chairs around the research table they’d been sat at earlier and sagged into them. It had been a long day. For Dean, especially. He’d barely slept last night in anticipation. Absently reaching for the pizza box in the middle of the table, Dean scrounged for the cold half-slice sat in a puddle of its own grease. As he brought it to his mouth, Sam and Cas alike gave him the most judgmental faces of concern he’d ever been confronted with in his life. He bit into the pizza anyway. 

“I’ll give it to you, Dean,” said Sam, after a long sigh.

Dean’s entire face lit up. “You mean it?” He reached across the table and gripped Sam’s pillowcase full of candy on the opposite side of the table.

“What? No,” Sam pried it out of Dean’s iron grip and jerked it back to his side of the table. “I mean I gotta hand it to you, Halloween wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“Again, Sammy, I told ya so.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Jerk.” 

“Bitch.”

They shared wistful smiles, but Sam’s eyes were starting to droop. If Sam looked that tired, Dean could only imagine how he must have looked. Then again, he was feeling pretty good, all things considered.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night too,” said Sam, on the tail end of a yawn. “I found another case a few hours North, but I want to leave early in the morning if Jack hasn’t completely crashed and burned from all the sugar.” He stood from the table with a groaning stretch and a light scratch to his stomach as he turned to push the chair in and grab his candy haul, if only to hide it from Dean. “Night, guys,” he said with a small wave. 

“Night, Sammy,” said Dean stuffing the stale crust into his mouth.

Cas returned the wave with a small smile. “Goodnight, Sam.”

Before he rounded the corner to the hall, Sam added, “Oh, and Dean, try not to eat all the candy at once.” Dean scoffed, as if he wasn’t planning to do just that. 

And just like that, it was the two of them again.

Dean knocked their knees together under the table. “Hey, Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas acknowledged, his face warming instantly.

Dean gave Cas a shy smile in return, as if they hadn’t been staring at each other for the last few days, or the last decade really. As if they hadn’t made out in someone stranger’s front yard a few minutes short of an hour ago too. Drumming his knuckles against the wood grain, Dean scanned the library. “You know what? We never got to see those babies in action,” he said, raising his chin towards the pair of carved pumpkins sat on the neighboring table. “Whaddya say?”

“Hm, you’re right. Why don’t you attempt to find some candles, and I’ll go retrieve your pie from the kitchen?”

Dean placed a hand over his heart again. “Course I’m right, and y’know, you keep talkin’ like that and I might just have to kiss you again.” Dean laughed, he didn’t miss how pink Cas’ face became right before he headed for the kitchen.

***

Almost half of the pie was demolished in a single sitting. How Dean managed to pack it away, after all the candy he had snuck while Cas was in the kitchen was beyond him. They were sitting in the dark library musing over the orange glow of the jack o’lantern light. A burning palm juxtaposed next to the fiery wings of an Angel. Fitting, Dean thought, as he licked the fork clean. Cas seemed to be mesmerized by them.

Breaking Cas’ concentration, Dean leaned over in his seat reaching a palm out to cup Cas’ cheek. He stroked a thumb over Cas’ perpetual stubble and smiled lazily at the small miracle that he could do this now. Whenever. Cas’ face was glowing against the backdrop of their jack o’lanterns and Dean wanted to remember this moment just as it was. A mental snapshot fixed in place. He couldn’t remember a time when Cas had looked more beautiful than this, aside from almost every time he looked at him. Cas reached up to Dean’s face and pushed the Batman mask to rest on the top of Dean’s head, Cas’ hands coming to rest on either side of his face. Leaning forward across the arm of his chair, Dean placed a light, tingling kiss to Cas’ lips. This time around, when Cas opened for his curious tongue, it tasted like the bite of apple pie Cas ate. He always did that. Did things just to make Dean feel good, tonight being no exception. This was the best Dean was ever going to feel, and it was in no small part thanks to Cas. 

“Happy Halloween, Cas,” he with a smile.

And Cas being Cas, replied, “Technically it’s after midnight, so Halloween is over.”

“That so?” Dean hummed.

“Yes, it’s All Saint's Day now.”

“Happy All Saint's Day, Cas.” He chuckled.

“All Saint's Day is for saints, Dean. I am definitely not a saint,” he said gesturing to his entire outfit.

Dean laughed and shrugged a shoulder. “Eh, you’re close enough. You’ve died enough anyway.”

Suddenly a yawn forced its way out of Dean’s throat as he pulled away, plunking the half-eaten pie in his lap down on the library table. “Man, I’m beat.” He scrubbed at his pinched eyes for a moment, then turned them to Cas who looked just as alert as he always did. Angels, man. Dean hadn’t really thought this far, but he figured he would give it a shot. “What do you say, we, uh… go to bed?”

“Would you like me to watch over you tonight?”

Dean quirked his lips. “Yeah, sure, something like that, I guess.” Dean chuckled at Cas’ clueless face. “I’m sayin’ I want you to spend the night with me, Cas. Maybe get real crazy this time and sit on the bed while I fall asleep?”

“Oh.” Cas’ eyes looked like saucers again as his mouth fell open. “Yes, I’d like that, Dean. Very much,” he stammered.

Chuckling again, Dean got to his feet, pushing in the chair. He covered the rest of the pie and flung their pillowcases of candy over his shoulder with one hand, as he beckoned Cas with the other. Blowing out the half-melted candles through the holes in the top, he replaced the pumpkin lids and said, “Alright, well c’mon then, Angel. No time to waste.” He tossed a look towards to door, allowing Cas to lead the way to the bedroom, just so he could watch Cas walk away in his shorts one more time. The cowboy get-up was a wise purchase and he hoped this wouldn’t be the last he saw of it.

Setting down the candy on his desk, Dean moved to the dresser to pull out a pair of pajamas for himself. A large part of him fought to ask Cas to stay in that entire ensemble forever, while the better part, the upstanding part, reached back into the dresser to fumble around for another set of pajamas. Cas didn’t sleep and Dean knew that, but hell if he wasn’t going to provide himself with the illusion of any of this being normal. He tossed the same sweatpants from the other day to Cas, who caught them with a grateful smile. And they changed facing away from each other, because they might have kissed already, and they might have exchanged ‘i love you’s, but again, one step at a time. When Dean turned around to see Cas in his pajamas, he mourned the loss of the cowboy costume, but seeing it on his floor definitely wasn’t too bad either. And Dean was learning to love the look of Cas in those loose sweatpants just as much.

Crawling into the cool sheets, Dean settled in and made himself comfortable, memory foam engulfing him on at least two sides. He was laying on his side, propped up on his elbow, staring at one very nervous looking Cas. 

“Hey, it’s just sleep, man,” said Dean to calm him down. “You can sit in your chair if you want. I don’t mind.”

“No,” Cas urged, “I want to sleep with you.”

Dean knew that didn’t come out the way Cas intended it, but a faint blush still tickled Dean’s cheeks as he smiled up at Cas. One thing at a time, he reminded himself at his overeager reaction. Peeling the blanket down at the corner, Dean patted the empty spot beside him. “Well then, c’mon in Cas, the water’s fine.”

Visibly swallowing, Cas moved forward and took a cautious seat on the edge of the mattress before finally slumping against the headboard. He covered his legs with the blanket and waited for Dean to do something. Anything. 

Dean reached over to the side table and turned out the light. It was better without the light because then he didn’t have to see Cas’ terrified expression or the reverence he afforded Dean. Pushing all that aside, Dean scooted forward and wrapped an arm around Cas’ solid torso. He melted into the warmth.

It was then he decided for the millionth time this week that there was no time like the present. “I love you, y’know,” he mumbled into Cas’ shoulder, placing a kiss there. But he had to trust that Cas’ supersonic hearing would pick it up.

And honest to God, all Cas said back was, “I know.”

Dean could practically feel the smile spreading across Cas’ face, mostly because it matched his own perfectly. “Did you just ‘Han Solo’ me?”

“I might have.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Leaning over, Cas placed another gentle kiss to the top of Dean’s forehead and whispered, “Go to sleep, Dean. We can talk in the morning. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That was all Dean needed to hear to allow his eyelids to droop closed. He huffed out a contented sigh as he slotted their warm bodies together, as close as possible. Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s pillow and lightly ran his fingers through the short crop of hair on top of Dean’s head and for the first time in a long time: he was happy. They both were. 

They were allowed to be.

And Dean could honestly say he’d never had a better Halloween in his life. All things considered.


End file.
